Some Call Them Lovers
by sassywriterchick
Summary: "You so missed me,"—Bitterblue!Saf


a/n: I have never written for Bitterblue and Saf before, so I hope this alright:)

...

When you've been away from a place for some time, Saf came to learn, walking through the streets once more felt like he was another country, his memories and feelings not quite matching up to the image of the buildings around him. Somehow he'd only remembered the pain, the running, the bones in the river—forgetting the calm moments—when everything stopped for a moment, and he didn't have to run. He was confused for a moment—wondering why everything was so quiet—no one chasing him, no adrenaline pumping through his veins.

For a moment he wondered where he should go. Return to the shop, greet his family? March up to the castle and inform them of all he'd seen on his voyages? Try to find Sparks—_Queen Bitterblue_ and… what exactly? They had departed as friends—but they still hadn't really addressed what their relationship was now.

Rubbing his head, he watched a band of boys run across the street, nearly knocking over a hooded figure that was crossing as well. The figure didn't snap at the boys, instead veered out of their way, careful fingers moving to yank down their hood to better conceal their identity, which had been almost given away with their stumbling.

Shock registered in his mind when he recognized those slim fingers, saw the lack of height as the person attempted to scurry off the main road, Her expensive boots catching his eyes for a moment under the tail of her cloak. He was rather surprised she was out at all—he was certain that everyone would be certain to not let the Queen of Monsea keep up with her late night escapades.

He's fast and nimble as he strolls after her, yanking up his own hood to make sure no one recognized him and attempted to wrangle him into a conversation. He absolutely had to follow her; it was a part of his pain in the ass attitude he carried. The brief fear that she might stab him flitted across his mind, but he shoved it away. She wouldn't when she heard his voice—if she had been getting the dreams he sent her she would remember it well.

She's strolling down a darker street now, and from the escalated tempo of her pace he assumes she's realized he's following her. Although, judging from the fact she's moving away from him—she doesn't know it's him. He could shout out 'Sparks' or even 'Bitterblue', but somehow that took the fun out of it. Anyone could shout her name, it wasn't hard—and it would probably just alarm her more.

She turned abruptly around a corner, and he jogged to catch up with her, determined not to lose her. When he peered around, he was instantly dismayed to find he had lost her. He would have preferred for their reunion to be in private—without the prying eyes of her servants, but it didn't seem like that would be possible.

Sighing, about to turn and head towards the shop after all, he was surprised when two hands grabbed his shoulders and flipped him onto the ground—slamming him against the cobblestones as that same person jumped on top of him, pressing him into the ground with their tiny weight—a knife at his throat in the next instant. He was about to fight back; it wouldn't take much to throw the person off of him, when he recognized the voice that snarled at him through the darkness.

"Why are you following me?" She demanded in a tone fit for a Queen—one that would give her away instantly to anyone who was ignorant of her identity. Still, that may be simply because he knew exactly who she was—the memories associating with that voice swirling back to him. He contemplated his answer for several moments, realizing that he needed to be as careful as possible with it so she didn't decapitate him if she didn't recognize him anymore.

"Do I need a reason, Sparks?" he asked, his purple eyes glinting. He felt her tense on top of him, before her finger pushed back the hood donning his head. Her breath caught in her throat, and she pushed herself off of him.

"Saf?" she asked, her voice higher than normal. He grinned at her, and looking up and down the road to make sure no one was coming—he reached up and pushed back her hood so he could look at her face again.

She had a new scar cutting into one of her elegant dark brows, her gray eyes seemed to burn even more than before, her hair done in a simple braid, her lips pursed as she glared at him. Then, raising a fist, she hit him.

"Ow! What the hell?" He demanded, raising her arms to defend himself.

"We heard no word from you for the last three years!" She shouted, making herself obvious to anyone in the surrounding houses or shops. He took a tight hold on her arm and pulled her backwards, into a nearby alleyway.

"Keep your voice down," he hissed, "do you want everyone to know who you are?" She glared even more, but kept quiet. "Why were you out here?" He asked her.

"I was visiting Teddy," she said quietly, "as I do every week at this time."

"Why?"

"He's my friend," she said in defense, "and I've promised to bring him any news that might bare of some relevance to _you_." She spat out the word, her eyes flashing. He couldn't help but feel like this was so much better than if she'd been happy to see him.

"I thought you said you heard no word," he said, raising one eyebrow. She blushed.

"We haven't—but he's the only person I can fully complain to about you that _understands_—"

"You're still such a liar Sparks," he teased, "you missed me didn't you?" She went an even brighter red—well from what he could see of her in dim light of the night.

"I didn't miss you at all," she snapped.

"Did you get my dreams?" he questioned, and she went the color of a tomato.

"Yes, thank you," She said politely, and he laughed—oh he had missed her.

"You so missed me!" he chortled.

"Of course I did you idiot!" she moved to perhaps whack him on the shoulder—or do something else he had no idea—but he intercepted her with his lips. He may have been able to send her dreams of him—but he couldn't grace himself with his own grace. He only had her presence in fainted recollections of the past. He found himself kissing her, and she was kissing back.

"Saf," She whispered again, "it's nice to see you again." He smiled down at her.

"I take that as a sign that you haven't married in the last three years," He teased, and she turned an even brighter red—but allowed him to kiss her again nonetheless.

It was the best welcome home present he could have wished for.


End file.
